Rescue Rangers: Canine Squad
by Neal Wolf
Summary: Part 7 of a series. Old friends are reunited, and a new team of Rescue Rangers is born


**_Prologue_**

Aldrin Chlordane stepped outside the front gate of the State Penitentiary for the first time in over a decade, holding the lapels of his sport coat and smiling as he took a deep breath. "So glad the parole board finally saw things my way," he thought. Glancing around, his eyes fell on a short, pudgy man standing next to the rear passenger side door of a sedan, holding it open.

"Ah, Percy," he smiled, heading over to the car. "Glad to see you made it… on time, at that."

"Can we just get outta here, Mr. Chlordane?" Percy said, looking around nervously. "I ain't too hot on bein' dis close to a prison."

"Of course; I think you know where to go," the criminal mastermind replied, sliding into the back seat.

"Sure do." Chlordane never saw the evil grin on the flunky's face as he came around to the driver's side and started up the car.

After a few twists and turns, Chlordane recognized the area he was in; the street they were currently on led directly to the Happy Tom Cat Food factory, his old hideout. Surprisingly, however, Percy cut a sharp left and pulled the car into a nearby warehouse. "What are you doing, you imbecile?!" he demanded. "The factory is…"

"Shaddap," the henchman snapped, cutting off the engine and stepping out. Chlordane followed suit, and found himself surrounded by several of his former henchmen, along with one individual he didn't recognize.

"The master thief, Aldrin Chlordane, has himself been stolen," the unknown figure chuckled. "Ironic, don't you think?"

"Whoever you are, you're going to regret this," Chlordane growled.

The figure, a man somewhere in his twenties in a business suit and sporting short, well-groomed red hair, raised an eyebrow. "Don't recognize me?" He shook his head slowly. "Didn't think you would; it has been quite a while. On the other hand, _I_ know absolutely everything about _you_, even how you tried to blame the failure of your 'master plan' on a bunch of rodents and a dog. Pathetic, I think."

As Chlordane backed up against the car, the other man drew a pistol with a silencer from his jacket and leveled it at his chest. "You're an embarrassment, and I don't like being embarrassed." The criminal mastermind lurched as the bullet pierced his heart. The last thing he heard was his murderer's parting words. "Now Edwin Chlordane can take over where Aldrin Chlordane left off."

* * *

The director of "Flash the Wonder Dog" paced outside his star's dressing room impatiently. Ratings were better than ever, largely due to the show's latest addition, Canina La Fur. At least, they _had been_ better; they'd had to show reruns the past couple of days because Flash had taken ill and Canina refused to leave his side. For a moment, he'd thought of her behavior being almost like that of a girlfriend, then dismissed the idea; after all, they were only dogs. 

"Sorry, traffic was insane," Dr. Albert Drake, the on-call vet for the show, said as he came up the hall. "What's wrong with Flash?"

"He's been lethargic the past couple of days," the director informed him. "He barely eats, he misses his cues… we thought about using a stunt dog, but we can't coax Canina away from him."

"Okay, I'll take a look at him," said the doctor, opening the dressing room door. The director nodded and headed for the control booth; he'd never figured out exactly why Dr. Drake never wanted anyone else in the room when he was examining the dogs, but settled on presuming that he probably didn't _want_ to know.

Canina whimpered as the door opened, sitting next to Flash as he lay on the floor. He looked downright miserable, but brightened when he saw who was coming in. "What kept'cha?" the German shepherd asked.

"Traffic," the doctor replied with a smirk, closing the door behind him. Albert Drake was a speaker; one of a very few humans who could actually understand the common language of animals and communicate with them. "I kind'a figured you weren't really sick, especially when the phone call I got mentioned that both of you were actin' funny."

"That was the idea, doc," Canina grinned, then looked at Flash and sighed. "Truth is, Flash and I've been talking, and we are sick… sick of show biz, that is."

Albert looked at her, a bit surprised. "Wait a second, Flash the Wonder Dog and Canina La Fur are lookin' to retire?"

Both dogs nodded. "We figured you'd be the best one to help, since you managed to get us out for a few days for Chip and Gadget's wedding," Flash explained.

"Well, I guess I _could_ convince the director to let you both go," Albert told them after thinking a moment, "but the problem is, where would you go?" He thought a moment longer, then snapped his fingers. "Hey… it's worth a shot, at least." Fishing his cell phone out of his pocket, he hit speed dial as the canine performers watched intently. "Don? Hi, it's Al… I'm good, how are you and Plato? Glad to hear it. Listen, I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you…"

* * *

Retired police detective Don Drake leaned back in his chair, sipping at a glass of lemonade. "Y'know, it's funny how I only hear from my little brother when he needs a favor."

Al chuckled, sitting next to Don on the latter's front porch and holding a glass of his own. "Kind'a like how I never hear from _you_ unless it's time for Plato's checkup?" He looked out at the three dogs in the front lawn. "You sure keepin' these two won't be a problem for you?"

"Nah," Don replied, shaking his head. "I've got plenty of room, and Plato seems to like 'em; honestly, that was my only real concern. It's weird, though, it almost seems like they already knew each other…"

A knowing grin slipped into Al's features. "It does look like they've met before, doesn't it?"

"You say you're going to be staying here?" Plato asked. "Splendid news, indeed!"

The former actors nodded in unison. "Al said something about your human being worried about how we'd get along," Flash explained. "Once I told him we'd met at the wedding, everything was set."

"Detective Drake just didn't know it yet," Plato added; he also was aware of the good doctor's peculiar ability.

"Speakin' of which, I'm sorry we didn't get to talk more last time," said Canina. "With the ceremony and the ruckus at the reception…"

"Quite all right," the bulldog assured her. "Although, I had hoped to get a chance to talk to you both a bit more, especially you, Ms. La Fur. You see, I've been a fan of yours for years and years…"

"Uh-oh," Flash said under his breath, barely stifling a snicker as Canina's eyes narrowed slightly.

"… and years and…" Plato stopped himself, "but I'm sure you get that all the time".

"More than you know," the actress said ruefully, giving Flash a dirty look.

The German shepherd, however, seemed distracted by something. "Not to change the subject, but were you expecting company?"

"Other than you, no…" Plato paused, hearing the sound as well; an approaching car, coming up the dirt road leading to Detective Drake's country home rather quickly.

The car was now in plain view, holding the attention of all five individuals in front of the house. Canina sniffed the air curiously; the car was upwind of them. "What's that mixed with the exhaust?" she asked. "Smells oily, but it isn't motor oil…"

Plato caught the scent, his eyes widening in fear. "Gun oil…"

"AL! _**GUN!!**_"

The former detective only heard Flash barking; the vet, however, heard the words. "Don, look out!" He dove for his brother, but a bit too late. Two shots fired from the rear passenger window, then the car sped off as the humans slumped to the floor of the porch.

The dogs charged for the porch, checking their bipedal friends. "Whadda we do?!" Canina asked frantically. "They're still alive, but how do we get a doctor out here?"

"Nine-one-one," replied Flash, visibly shaken but trying to keep his head.

"Sweetie, I hate to break it to you, but the odds of the operator being a speaker are a million to one."

"He has a point, though, ma'am," the bulldog was clearly the most level-headed of the three at the moment. "If an emergency call is answered and no one is on the other end of the line, the call is traced and a police car is dispatched to the location; it's standard procedure."

Canina nodded. "Okay, I'm on it." She shuddered as she looked at the two humans, laying in a growing pool of their own blood, before bolting into the house. "Hold on, you guys, help's a-comin'…"

* * *

The police arrived shortly, quickly followed by the paramedics. As two of them worked to stabilize Al for transportation to the hospital, the other two carted Don into the ambulance, a sheet pulled over his face. The three dogs sat off to the side. 

"Dang it, I shouldn't have panicked," Canina chastised herself. "If I'd been faster, maybe…"

Flash nuzzled her gently, resting on paw on hers. "You did what you could, Canina. I overheard the paramedics talking; the shot that hit the detective tore part of his heart out."

"Indeed," Plato tried to sound reassuring, but his grief was clear in his eyes. "Besides, had it not been for you, Dr. Drake may have easily bled to death as well." He squeezed his eyes closed, a single tear slipping down the side of his muzzle, then shook his head, clearing his throat to compose himself. "The two of you are perfectly welcome to stay here as long as you wish. I'm heading into the city to find who did this… and bring him to justice."

"Hold on there, flatfoot," said Canina, standing in front of him. "You ain't thinkin'a doin' this on yer own, are you?"

"We may have just met Detective Drake," Flash added, "but Al is our friend, too… and so are you".

"Dash it all, this is _police_ work," the bulldog argued. "What can the two of you hope to do?"

"You might be surprised," replied Flash, giving Canina a knowing grin.

She barely contained a soft giggle. "Just ask a certain overstuffed feline we crossed paths with…"

"Fat Cat?" Plato looked surprised. "You've tangled with _him_?"

"I believe his exact words when we were done with him were 'if I never see another dog again, it'll be too soon'," Canina told him with a sly grin.

"Well, that does change matters a bit," the police dog regarded his companions with a new respect. "However, three dogs slipping past Animal Control will be a bit more difficult than one."

As they considered a course of action, something drew Flash's attention. "Um, Plato? Either you've got some really big moles around here, or…" His words were cut off by surprised yelps from all three of them as the ground gave way beneath their feet and they plunged into darkness.

"_Sacre bleau_! What ees…" A gray poodle wearing a miner's lamp looked up at the trio that had just fallen on him. "_Pardonez-moi_, I deedn't mean to intrude; we were just passing through…"

"Passing _under_ is more like it," Flash said with a smirk. "Who the heck are you, anyway?"

The poodle straightened up a little. "I am Jean-Pierre DuBois, but most just call me Frenchie; my leetle friend ovair zere is Que Sera."

"Sera," the small animal that the trio had mistaken for the head of a dust mop until now hopped with the comment.

"We are ze Pound Underground," Frenchie continued, "or simply P.U."

"P.U. is right," said Canina disgustedly. "When's the last time you had a bath?"

"I remember you lads," Plato put in. "You're the ones who helped Chip and Dale get me out of the pound."

"You know these yo-yos?" asked Canina, looking surprised.

"You were actually in the pound?" Flash added.

"Ah, yes, ze Pound Underground 'as liberated many canines from ze shackles of oppression…"

"Jean-Pierre?" Que Sera's voice had a hint of admonishment in it.

"_Oui_ (Yes)?"

"_Les dire la vérité_ (Tell them the truth)."

Frenchie looked at the dust mop dog indignantly. "_Pourquoi pensez-vous je n'ai pas_ (Why do you think I didn't)?"

"_Votre ton de voix_ (Your tone of voice); _cela est comment je peux deviner d'habitude que vous dites quand vous parlez l'anglais_ (that's how I can usually guess what you say when you speak English)." Que Sera's tone was very matter-of-fact.

The poodle sighed. "_Est-ce que Je Dois_ (Do I have to)?"

"_Oui, si vous les aimeriez comme amis_ (Yes, if you'd like them as friends)."

Frenchie nodded, sounding defeated. "_Très bien_ (Very well)."

The other three dogs had been watching the two of them, completely lost, through the entire exchange, so Frenchie explained. "Ze fact of ze matter ees zat you are ze only dog we 'ave liberated. We 'ave been digging zis tunnel out of ze city to escape our own embarrassment. As ze P.U., we steenk."

"Hold the phone," Flash was getting an idea. "This tunnel leads back into the city?"

"_Oui_," replied Frenchie, raising one eyebrow.

The German shepherd grinned at Plato and Canina. "I think our Animal Control problem just got solved…"

* * *

Frenchie lowered himself from the latest of the series of observation points the group had passed in their long trek through the tunnels. "Good news, _mes amis_," he reported with a grin. "Central Park ees dead a'ead." 

" 'bout time," Canina grumbled, "I don't remember the last time I walked that far".

"_Pardonez-moi_, but why are we going to ze park again?"

"We told you about what happened shortly before you arrived," Plato explained. "If we're going to find Detective Drake's killer, we're going to need all the help we can get, and the Rescue Rangers are the best place to start."

Arriving at the tree that served as the Rangers' headquarters, the group could hear voices, but neither were familiar.

"You sure you checked the whole place?" a gruff, deep voice asked.

"Sure I'm sure," the second voice, considerably higher with a distinct Brooklyn accent, replied. "I soiched da whole place, top ta bottom, an' dey ain't here."

Looking up, the canine quintet saw two figures on the Rangers' front step: a snake in a stocking cap and a spider wearing a bowler and short-sleeved shirt. "Hello, up there!" Plato called. "Are you seeking the Rangers' assistance as well?"

The snake was gently lowered to ground level on a strand of web, followed shortly by the spider climbing down the tree. "Depends," said the snake, the owner of the lower voice. "Who's askin'?"

The pair nodded as the dogs introduced themselves. "I'm Bud, an' this is Lou," the snake told them. "Actually, we came to see if _they_ needed _our_ help."

"Y'see, Freddie… dat's da witch we woik wit… is a friend of Foxglove's," Lou explained. "Last night, Freddie had a promena… a primono… a _feelin'_ dat Foxglove was in trouble, so she sent us to check on 'er. Looks like we was a bit too late."

"We heard you saying you checked out their home," said Flash, his mind setting to work on the matter of the missing Rangers. "Was there anything out of the ordinary?"

The spider shrugged his four shoulders. "I dunno; what's outta da ordinary fer dem?"

"Anything that caught your attention," Canina offered, trying to hide her exasperation; she'd never had much patience.

Lou thought for a moment. "Well, dere was papers lyin' around, like dey left in a hurry… da police scanner is still on, too, but I dunno if dey leave it on alla time or not."

"Possible, knowing Chip," Plato put in.

"Eet does not seem likely zat zey would leave equipment on when no one ees 'ere, zough, _n'est ce pas_?" Frenchie countered.

"Good point," replied Flash. "My guess is they heard the report about the shooting and started investigating on their own."

"So, if we find the shooter, we find them," Canina concluded dryly, "which puts us back to square one".

Just then, a report was coming over the scanner. Though Bud and Lou couldn't hear it, the dogs' keen hearing picked it up instantly. "Happy Tom Cat Food factory?" Plato asked. "Why would they be searching _there_? Chlordane's still in prison."

"Y'mean Aldrin Chlordane, the guy that tried to break into the Global Gold Reserve?" asked Bud. "No he ain't; I heard on the news that he got paroled about a week ago, then went missin' right after."

Plato turned to Frenchie. "Can you dig us a tunnel to the warehouse district, near the Happy Tom Cat Food factory?"

"But of course," the poodle grinned. "Que Sera?"

"Sera." The tiny canine jumped back into the tunnel and started excavating.

"You guys comin'?" Flash addressed the snake and spider.

"We gotta report back to Freddie first," Bud replied. "We'll meet'cha there."

* * *

"I am afraid zis ees as close as we can get from below," Frenchie informed the others as they climbed out of a manhole. "Ze 'appy Tom Cat Food factory ees straight ahead."

Something off to their left caught Canina's attention. "Hey guys, isn't that the same car we saw at the Drake place?"

The others looked over, Plato narrowing his eyes a bit to clearly make out the license plate. "By Jove, it is," he said with a slight growl. "That means the scoundrels are in there…"

Flash stepped in front of the bulldog as he started towards the warehouse the car was parked in front of. "Hang on, Plato; we need a plan. Let's look around and see if we can find another entrance."

Circling the building, the five of them found an open window easily accessible thanks to a stack of crates. At the top of the crates, however, they found something they didn't expect. Frenchie raised an eyebrow upon spotting the small object. "Say, eesn't zat… ?"

"The Ranger Wing," Canina finished. "They _are_ here!"

"That doesn't mean that we should be any less careful," said Flash. "Once we're in, we can cover more ground if we split up. Frenchie, you and Que Sera follow the wall to the left."

"You can count on us, _mon capitan_," he replied with a salute. "Right, Que Sera?"

"Sera."

"Plato, head off to the right," Flash continued. "Canina, you and I will head up the middle. If you see anything, whistle, and try to get it high enough that we can hear it but the humans can't."

"Indeed," Plato nodded. "Shall we, then?"

As the group split off in their separate directions, the former police dog's thoughts were partly on the matter at hand, and partly on the rag-tag group he'd somehow found himself part of. The pair he'd first met at the pound could likely handle themselves, given the proper motivation. With their claim of having faced Fat Cat, he also had no doubts about Flash and Canina. The German shepherd in particular impressed him; Flash seemed to have taken quite naturally to the role of leader, and thus far had done rather well with it.

Plato's thoughts were disrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. He watched from behind a stack of boxes as two men walked past, one grumbling to the other. "Why do we have'ta keep checkin' this stupid trap?" one asked.

" 'cause da boss told us to, lunkhead," the other replied. "His old man, Chlordane, might'a been a wacko, but da boss didn't get where he is by takin' chances, y'know?"

"Maybe, but killin' his old man _and_ that detective was a bit much, an' settin' traps for chipmunks is just plain crazy."

"Ya think so? Take a look."

Plato peeked around the corner of his hiding place. In a cage hanging from a nearby hook were the Rangers, some of them glaring at Monty while the rest stared at the two goons. "Looks like we got a bonus," the second goon said. "Da boss was just expectin' two chipmunks an' two mice; we got dem, plus a bat an' two squirrels."

"Guess I owe Tony five bucks," the first one smirked. "Now dat we got the rodents, where's the dog?"

"Right here!" Plato snapped, leaping from his concealment and charging the two men, who cringed hearing the bark from behind them. Unfortunately, he didn't see the snare that closed around one paw and hoisted him into the air as well. As he slowly twisted by his paw, he distinctly heard a very high pitched whistle from nearby.

"Dis was too easy!" The first goon gave Plato a cruel grin as he pulled a syringe and a muzzle from a nearby box.

The pair never really knew what hit them. As the first goon approached Plato, he suddenly tripped over what looked like the head of a dust mop, which hadn't been there a second before. The syringe he carried was then snatched out of his hand by a gray poodle as he fell and jabbed into his own rear end; at this point, everything became a blank. His associate, while this was going on, found himself being lunged at by two other dogs, both looking oddly familiar. The collision between his head and a stack of crates ended his recollection of the events.

Frenchie propped himself against a stack of crates, and Que Sera climbed up his back and onto his head to chew through the rope holding Plato. Flash and Canina, meanwhile, got the Rangers' prison down from its hook and were working at getting the latches holding the bottom in place loose. "Who'd have thought we'd be rescuing the Rescue Rangers?" Canina quipped.

"It _is_ rather ironic," Plato replied, then fell to the floor with a thud as the rope finally gave way. "I presume it was a cheese attack that got you lads into that mess?"

"How'd you guess?" Tammy shot Monty a dirty look.

"I'm gonna do sumthin' about those one'a these days," Monty tried to look innocent; it didn't work. "Lucky fer us you lot were 'ere."

"Leave it to a police dog to think to bring backup," Dale said with a grin.

Flash worked the final latch free and knocked the cage top over. "Backup he _should have_ called for and didn't. Good thing we passed these two jokers and decided to follow them."

"Well, I…" Plato stammered for a moment, then sighed. "Dash it, you're right and I know it. Sorry, Flash; I sort of let you down."

"The important thing is you're okay." The German shepherd gave his friend a grin. "As long as we're in this together, though, we need to work together."

"Speaking of togezairness," Frenchie put in, "I would swear zis team 'as grown since we last met."

"The bat with Dale is named Foxglove," Gadget told him, "and the squirrels are Tammy and Nathaniel. Guys, this the Pound Underground, Frenchie and Que Sera".

"Sera."

"Ah, _formerly_ ze P.U., _madamoiselle_…" Frenchie suddenly noticed the ring on the mouse inventor's finger… as well as the one on Chip's. "Sorry, _madame_. Things… didn't quite work out with zat ze way we 'ad hoped. 'owever, we 'ave found ze office of ze leader of zis band of villains; zey are 'aving some sort of meeting very soon."

"Then let's go catch us a killer," said Chip, making a slight adjustment to his fedora. "Rescue Rangers, away!"

* * *

The meeting was well underway, its human attendants unaware that the goings-on were being observed by more than just themselves. "Da Global Gold Resoive?" one thug was asking the man at the head of the table. "No offense, boss, but youse gotta be kiddin'. Even your father's scheme ta crack dat nut blew up in his face." 

"That, Antonio, is because it was too complex," Edwin Chlordane replied. "My late sire didn't grasp the concept that the more pieces a plan has, the more chances there are for it to go wrong. My plan is considerably more simple." He pulled a small vial of clear liquid from his shirt pocket and held it up. "Perchance, do any of you know what this substance is?"

He glanced around the table at the vacant stares before he continued. "This, my incredibly inept associates, is concentrated nitroglycerine, perhaps the most volatile substance on earth. One good shake of this little vial, and the ensuing explosion would kill us all, not to mention taking a fourth of this warehouse with us." He very gently set the vial on the table, next to a small radio transmitter. "Last night, a few of my men set up barrels of this liquid in strategic locations throughout the sewers beneath the Global Gold Reserve, one of which also carries a plastic explosive charge. The charge is hooked to a remote detonator, activated by this transmitter. In one hour, during the guards' shift change, I am going to activate that detonator, which will set off both the plastic explosive and the barrel of nitroglycerine. The shockwave from that explosion will set off the next few barrels, and so on, until the entire sewer system in that area, not to mention several of the Reserve's lower levels, have been completely destroyed and the Reserve falls into the very cavern my father attempted his ridiculous earthquake plan in. Between the explosions and the drop, most of the guards will be dead, and those that survive can be easily eliminated as we simply waltz into the Reserve and take what we will. Now, all of you, get out to the entrance to the tunnel leading to the cavern, but don't go in until the explosions stop; I'll meet you there after I set off the fireworks."

The Rangers and their canine companions moved away from the door and hid as the thugs filed out of the office. "Golly, all those people…" Gadget said quietly.

"Ze ones who survive ze explosions will likely be killed by those creeps," Frenchie put in, sounding rather dejected.

Nathaniel's tone was of determination. "We have one hour to stop that maniac."

"Any thoughts on how?" asked Canina.

"Maybe," Chip said, thinking. "The trick's going to be getting him away from that transmitter without bumping the vial of nitroglycerine."

"Anything we can do?" The group turned toward the sound of the new, deep voice. Bud and Lou approached them from along one wall.

"What are you two doing here?" Foxglove asked, surprised.

"Nice ta see you too," said Lou with a smirk. "Freddie tought ya could use a hand, an' since I got enough of 'em for both'a us…"

"We came across these lads at your headquarters," Plato told the Rangers. "They claim they were sent to help."

A small grin played at Flash's face, looking at the new arrivals. "Say, I think I've got an idea…"

* * *

Edwin leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers together absently. Things were going rather well; both his idiotic father and the retired detective, the one man who could have stopped him, were dead, and his plan was moving along quite nicely. As he played through events in his mind, it occurred to him that the pair he'd sent to check the rodent trap hadn't reported back yet. 

"Probably distracted by something shiny," he mused. He was about to dismiss the matter when he heard a peculiar sound from right outside his office. It sounded something like a cross between a dog's howl and a police siren. He picked up the transmitter as he walked out to investigate, too distracted by his own thoughts to notice the large spider that slipped past him along the wall, or the snake and mouse that snuck past his feet.

Edwin eyed the bulldog growling at him from a few paces away. "Well, well, you must be Plato," he said through a wicked grin. "I'm not sure just how you got here, but it doesn't really matter; if you've come to avenge your master, I regret to inform you that you'll be joining him instead." As the criminal started toward Plato, he was struck twice; once from behind, causing him to lurch forward, and again in the arm, sending the transmitter flying into the air. Before he could grab it, Foxglove swooped down and caught it, carrying it up out of his reach. "Hey, come back here with that!" Edwin yelled.

"Time for flying squirrels," said Chip with a wink. Dale stood in front of him, his paws latched onto Chip's to form a platform. Behind him was Monty, paws cupped in front of him and facing the pair charging at them. With practiced timing, Tammy set one foot on Monty's paws, Nathaniel doing likewise with the chipmunks, and the two were vaulted into the air by their teammates in an incredible leap.

"Two squirrels comin' up!" called Tammy.

"One transmitter comin' down," Foxglove replied.

"I said drop it, you flying rat!" screamed Edwin, pushing aside the two dogs that had assaulted him. As the bat dropped his transmitter, however, it was caught in midair by two squirrels and carried off along a stack of crates. "Dogs, bats, squirrels… has the entire animal kingdom turned on me?!" Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, the criminal turned to see the male Rangers climbing down from the stack they tossed Nathaniel and Tammy from.

"Chipmunks…" Edwin stared in disbelief. "This _can't_ be… my father couldn't possibly have been _right_!" He turned back toward his office. "You won't stop me like you did him; I'll kill us all before I'll see that happen!"

Charging into the office, Edwin found that the contents of his table had changed. Instead of the vial of nitroglycerine, he saw the two squirrels that had intercepted his transmitter, along with the transmitter itself… or what was left of it; pieces of it were strewn all over the table. A small mouse sat on top of the transmitter's housing; he'd almost swear it was wearing a pair of goggles and grinning.

His disbelief grew exponentially. "What… where's…?" A small tap on his ankle drew Edwin's attention to the floor. Next to his leg were a snake and a spider, the latter of which pointed up. Looking up, he saw his vial securely webbed to the ceiling, along with a note which read "Danger: highly explosive".

Edwin slowly backed out of the office, visibly shaken by this turn of events. "I've gone mad," he muttered to himself. "That must be it. My father's driven me insane from the afterlife to get even with me." Almost as if to accentuate his point, he heard two dogs howl out "Ride of the Valkyries" from behind him. He spun around to find the late detective's pet joined by yet two more dogs. "The Wonder Dogs from TV?!" Screaming madly, he bolted toward the warehouse exit… right into two waiting police officers.

"Oh, thank heaven," he said, dropping to his knees in front of the officers and babbling. "I killed Aldrin Chlordane. I killed Detective Drake. I rigged the explosives under the Global Gold Reserve. Arrest me. Take me away. Just_get those psychotic animals away from me!!!!_"

* * *

A week later, Tammy was out on the landing pad, prepping the Ranger Wing, when she heard Plato's voice from below. "Hello? Anyone home? We've brought a friend…" Peeking over the guardrail, the squirrel saw all five dogs, accompanied by a familiar human. 

"Al!" she cried, leaping down and grabbing the man's shirt to catch herself. "You're okay!"

The man chuckled, scooping the exuberant squirrel into his hand. "Ah, it'll take more than a gunshot wound to put me down for good."

Hearing the Ranger Wing coming down, Tammy quickly made an introduction as Gadget hovered the craft nearby. "Guys, I'd like you to meet Dr. Albert Drake, veterinarian among humans and teacher among us animals; he's the one I've been learning medicine from."

Al nodded with a smile. "So these are the famous Rescue Rangers. I've heard a lot about you, both from my students and from a certain pack of pooches…" He winked at the dogs around his feet before continuing. "It's an honor to meet you all."

"The honor is getting to meet Detective Drake's brother," replied Dale.

"Aye, 'e was a good man," Monty agreed. "He'll be missed."

"Not to seem rude, Dr. Drake," Chip cut in as Tammy climbed into the Wing, "but you caught us as we were leaving; we're on our way to the docks to do some investigating for a family of mice whose children were kidnapped the other night".

A police officer nearby inadvertently interrupted the conversation. "You say a dog came up and picked your pocket?" he said to the jogger standing in front of him.

The jogger nodded. "I know it sounds weird, but…"

The policeman shook his head. "Nah; the weird thing is you're the third report like that we've gotten since yesterday."

Canina looked up at the Ranger Wing. "Sounds like something right up your alley."

"But we're already _on_ a case," Gadget said sadly. She looked down at the dogs, then to her fellow Rangers with a grin. "We'd need another whole team to handle two cases at once…"

The rest of the Rangers smiled, catching where she was going. "They'd have to be experienced in the field," noted Nathaniel.

"Good at working as a team," Foxglove put in.

"Knowing a thing or three about dogs would help," Tammy offered.

"Most importantly, they'd have to have an idea of how we do things," Chip finished. "I suppose we _could_ make a certain honorary membership official, and extend it to _his_ team…"

Flash blushed. "Team? Us?" He looked around at the other dogs.

"You know, it did feel good to be back in action," Plato said with a nod.

"Ah, to once more fight for truth and justice," said Frenchie with a deep sigh. "Count us in, right, Que Sera?"

"Sera!"

Canina smirked. "Flash, honey, you gonna have trouble gettin' rid'a me; you should'a figured that out already."

Al just chuckled. "You know how to find me when you wrap up; I'll have the kibble waiting."

The German shepherd smiled. "Gosh, I… I don't know what to say…"

"Actually, Flash, I think you do," Chip told him, "and as the leader of this Canine Squad, it's up to you to say it".

Flash nodded. "Right, then." He set his jaw squarely, looking towards the direction the jogger had come from, and a small grin crept into his mouth as he called out his next three words triumphantly.

"Rescue Rangers, away!"

**_The Beginning..._**


End file.
